Fixing Perfect (15 page)

“If you were, it would be Sam, wouldn't it?”

Robin ran a shaking hand through her hair. What would it take to convince this guy that Sam had nothing to do with the murders? Besides another murder when he was in jail.

Macias cleared his throat. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Ingram. If you think of anything else that could help us, don't hesitate to call me. You have my cell number.”

Fuming, Robin got out her golf cart, which she'd remembered to plug in the night before, and drove it down to the co-op. How could the detective live with himself, knowing he'd thrown an innocent man in jail and left the rest of the world prey to a killer?

Someone was the killer, and it wasn't Sam. And Robin could still do her part to draw the killer out. It had to be someone she'd recognize.

Someone who would recognize her.

Who would take the bait?

He wouldn't have agreed to her scheme, she was sure of that. Fair enough. She'd do it all on her own.

She took a deep breath, climbed from her cart, and crutched her way to the co-op's open door.

And who best to spread the news than Grace? Grace, who seemed to talk to every citizen on the island on at least a weekly basis, knew all the news, and passed it on as well. She'd always felt guilty about being a part of the gossip, but if it helped Sam—

She stood with her head bowed for a moment, begged for guidance, gripped her crutches and her courage, and stepped through the door.

Donovan looked up from the counter. “Hey, Robin, how you doing? These fine people have been checking out your mermaids.” He turned to the kids gathered in front of the display. “This is the lady who sews those dolls. Makes up the design and everything.”

She'd never told him that. That had probably been Grace. It was the sort of thing Grace would do to make Robin seem more attractive in the eyes of an eligible male.

“Mom's gonna buy us each one,” the taller of the two girls said.

Robin smiled. “Thanks.” But she couldn't quite keep her mind on any possible profits. Once she'd decided that it was up to her to bring the killer out in the open—after her—she couldn't concentrate on anything to do with the rest of her future.

She might not have one.

She'd do everything she could to make sure she did. The most important part was to clear Sam, get him out of jail, and find out if he loved her. She had to stay alive for that, didn't she? Stay alive for another kiss?

If she just kept her focus on that kiss, maybe she could fool the killer into thinking she didn't suspect a thing.

The mother paid for their purchases and the family left. A few other customers roamed the aisles but not within hearing distance.

Robin leaned forward so her crutches supported more of her weight.

“Isn't Grace supposed to be in today?”

“She was, yeah.” Donovan came around the counter to put away a few things the family had decided against. “I gather her husband has the flu, so she's home taking care of him and keeping her germs from spreading.”

“Nice of her.” Robin sighed. So much for spreading her own news. She could tell Donovan, but then, he probably wouldn't be as quick to spread it as Grace. Besides that, he'd probably try to talk her out of it. Sam would.

She sighed again. “You heard about Sam?”

Donovan glanced at her. “Yeah. Shock, that.”

“Can I sit down?” She edged around to the back of the counter, and Donovan stepped back to let her pass.

“Thanks. Some days I just can't manage, you know?”

“That's too bad. Why don't you do something about it?”

“Something? Like what?”

As he watched her, she looked back at him, considering. He liked her. Grace insisted he did. And she needed help.

He avoided looking at her legs. “Surgery. Get your legs fixed. They can do that, can't they?”

So she needed fixing, did she? She stood, anger burning away the need. “I had eight surgeries between the time I was four and the time I was six,” she said through gritted teeth. “If I hadn't, I wouldn't be able to walk as well as I can now. But they did as much as they could.”

“You mean this is it? You're not going to get any better?”

“No. I'm not.” She stared into his eyes. She was not going to react any further to his attitude. She was just fine the way she was, thank you, and she didn't need to be
fixed
. At least Sam liked her as she was, gimpy legs and all. Robin liked herself just as she was, as well. And since she knew for a fact that God loved her, no matter what, that made it unanimous.

Donovan's opinion didn't count.

But if she just looked at his attitude, and not what she needed for Sam, how much good would she do for her best friend? She took a deep breath, let go of her resentment, and unclenched her jaw. “I'm just having a really hard time processing everything that's happened. All the murders and Sam's arrest.” She had to get him talking, and her legs weren't on her list of approved subjects.

Donovan nodded, his brows slightly furrowed. “He seemed like an OK guy. Not like someone who'd do something like that.”

“Why do you think he did?”

Donovan's eyes widened. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because I can't ask Sam, and I need to get it straight in my head. I need to understand it.”

“Yeah. OK.” He shrugged. “I never thought about why he'd do that. I mean, going after girls like that, it's sick. And the boys.” He slanted a look at her. “Sorry, I know he's your friend. Or he was. But guys who molest little kids deserve to die.”

He was so right.

Slowly, Donovan went on. “You know what most people would do to people like Sam?”

“Donovan, really, I don't need the details.”

He blinked as though this was the first time she'd come into focus for him all day. “He made those women look like you.”

Robin shuddered at the thought.

He went on. “Do you ever wonder why he did that? Black hair, blue eyes. The crutches.” His hand snaked out to stroke her head. “And he had a thing for you.”

“Does he?” If only that were true.

“You never saw him watching you. I did.”

“I think you're wrong.” Robin turned away. “We're friends. That's all. We're
still
friends. I don't care what everyone else thinks of him. He's innocent. He would never hurt anyone like that.”

“Oh, Robin.” He shook his head. “Look, if you'd like, I'll try to—I don't know. Try to find some proof for you. OK? Would that help?”

“What kind of proof?” she asked, her chin up. “To give the police more reason to blame him?”

“No, no, I didn't mean that at all. No. I meant—you know, to see if we could figure out who really did it.”

She nodded, unable to say a word. She needed help as much as she needed protection. Stronger than iron walls, she needed God.

And with God's help, she would expose the monster someone carried around inside him. She had to focus on setting herself out as bait, not on his aberrations. At what risk, she didn't know. Didn't care. She just had to get him to stop.

How? That was the hard part.

Had she really given this enough thought? Probably not. But she was here, and she needed help, and Donovan was the only person she could count on.

“The thing is, now that Sam's—well, gone, I need a runner for the games.”

“Are you asking me to step in?”

“Well.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “You offered a while back, but since I already had Sam I didn't think I needed another runner.”

“But things have changed.” Something glinted in his eyes. Now they looked grayer than ice.

“Yeah, things have changed.”

“OK. I'm good with that.” He shrugged. “I heard Danny canceled the last two games. Are you guys meeting on Saturday?”

“I think so. I'll let you know.” Now her heart pounded. She had, at least, a place to start.

“Sounds good.” He hesitated. “Look, Robin, if it's not Sam—and believe me, I'm willing to believe it isn't—who do you think it is? Has Sam got any ideas?”

“Not really and neither do I.” At least, not any she was willing to tell Donovan about. He could probably play the caveman as easily as Sam.

“OK. Fair enough.” He scratched his head. “Look, I've got a few suspicions of my own.” And when she opened her mouth to demand he tell her, he held up his hand. “No. I'm going to check a few things out first. See what I can turn up, you know?”

She hadn't even told him the worst of her plans, and he was taking over. But she struggled to repress her reservations. After all, the more people trying to get Sam out of jail, and out of trouble, the better. She nodded. “OK. Call me when you figure anything out.” She didn't make it a request.

“Got it.” He smiled, and turned as a new group of customers came inside. “Hi,” he called. “Welcome. If you need anything, let me know.”

Robin slid off the stool. “Thanks, Donovan. See you later.”

He nodded and she made her way to her cart.

This had to be a lot safer than asking the killer to come get her. It might take longer, but Sam was safe, even if he wasn't happy. With Donovan's help, she'd manage all her dreams, alive.

 

 

 

 

12

 

But first, she opened her cell and dialed Macias's private number. “You told me if I thought of anything else to call you.”

“Right. What have you got for me?”

“I had an idea about how to draw this guy out.”

“Draw him out? I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at.”

“He wants me, right?”

“Oh, no.” At least she'd gotten the man's attention. “Ms. Ingram—”

“Detective Macias, please. Just hear me out. Sam isn't the killer. I know that, even if you refuse to admit it. You asked for my help? Well, I'm going to give it to you. Because obviously the killer is after me, in some twisted, sick way. And I—”

“And you are going to do nothing.” From the sound of his voice, Robin thought he'd stood up, maybe was pacing. “You're not going to put yourself in danger. We're looking for evidence on Albrecht. We don't find it, you'll get your boyfriend back. But you are not going to put yourself in danger. If I think you are, I'll have you in custody, as well, for your own safety.”

Robin closed her phone and dragged herself back to her cart. Dumb move, she had to admit. Although, maybe she'd gotten the reaction she wanted. Maybe she had really been asking, should I, and Macias had answered, absolutely not.

And so she'd let herself be forced to promise she'd do nothing stupid, nothing dangerous.

What else could she do for Sam? Pray—but she'd been praying all along, and things just seemed to get worse.

The police were looking for evidence to convict Sam.

It wasn't out there. Evidence against someone else—sure. And after what she'd heard about the last murders, how the bodies had been posed on the beach, it had to be someone who had been watching her and Sam that day.

Who else besides Donovan had seen them on the beach? Her shoulders slumped. How could she know? Donovan was the only one who had come up to talk to them, but that didn't mean he alone had seen them. The beach was public, and neither she nor Sam had paid any attention to anyone else that magical afternoon.

If only she'd looked around…

 



 

Someday, she'd look at him with that same expression she kept for Sam. Someday,
he'd
be her hero.

Maybe he ought to use Sam. Dye his own hair and paint himself up to look like him. That would be a laugh. He was giggling already, thinking it out.

Might make it a little harder to get away with it, but hey, he was good.

He shook his head. Hard. Banged his fist on his temple. Because the whole point was to show them what a genius he was. He didn't want to fall back into obscurity. He wanted them to see—see him, see his vision.

If he had to use Sam, he would, but it was all about him and Robin. Always had been. And that's how it would end up.

 



 

She ran the cart against the curb and made herself stop her headlong rush to—what? Where was she going? She couldn't even remember now. She stared at the bistro in front of her, at the clear windows that reflected the bay behind her, at the figure of the man who stopped behind her.

She spun around.

“Robin, are you OK? You look—” Donovan smiled, peered closer and stepped forward, his hand out to help her from the cart. “Grace came back and took over so I could come make sure you were all right. You really looked like—I don't know—but bad. Come on. Let's get you some tea or something.” He jerked his head at the restaurant behind him.

Robin nodded and scooted off the seat. Without the buzz of the cart's wheels whirring, she caught the sound of the wind, the waves booming on the shore. The sound of normal for the town.

She gripped her crutches and shuffled past Donovan's hand.

He held a chair, asked her what she wanted, and went to the counter to put in the order. When he came back a few minutes later with steaming Styrofoam cups, she'd steeled herself beyond the blank stare of shock and took her drink with a smile.

“Thanks. Don't know what's wrong with me.”

He sat, frowning. “Stress, maybe? I mean, you're under a lot. Your boyfriend just got arrested. It's no wonder you're numb.”

He certainly understood how she felt. She swallowed, unable to answer.

“I talked to Detective Macias.” Donovan shifted his chair, took a drink of his own tea, and pushed a plastic plate loaded with Danish across to her.

Robin cleared her throat. “Right. He told me.” She looked up.